Lydia
THE DRIVE DOWN to Myrtle Beach only took us about three hours, but since we left after work, we didn’t get in until eight o’clock. Fortunately, we were all ready and just needed to touch up our makeup and change our clothes.
That’s what I’m doing when I hear Scarlett yell, “Shots, shots, shots!” I shake my head as I run my hands through my loose, hazelnut curls one more time. Exiting the bathroom, I see the girls already pouring liquor into tiny plastic cups. With lemon and lime wedges and salt laid out all over the desk in the corner of the hotel room, it’s starting to look like a frat house in here.
“Here you go, Lydia,” Scarlett says as she hands one to me before raising hers in a toast. “To a night we’re sure to forget.”
“Cheers,” the rest of us say in unison before throwing the shot back.
My throat is on fire. In fact, it feels like I poured kerosene down it. I can hardly breathe as I cough out, “Damn. What was that?” I know I didn’t buy anything at the liquor store made out of lighter fluid. Paige and Scarlett both cringe while making disgruntled noises as well.
“It’s just a little something I brought from my stash at home,” Charlotte tells us.
“What was it?” I ask, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand as I search for something to chase it with.
“Everclear,” she states.
“Are you insane? I’m not trying to die this weekend.” I grab a bottle of water and chug it, which helps soothe the burn, but my mouth still tastes like gasoline. I definitely was not prepared for that.
A few more shots of something less potent, and we’re ready to go. The four of us grab our purses and are about to walk out of the door, but I run back in to get something out of my suitcase. Rummaging in the front pocket, I locate the object I’m in search of and slide it over my left ring finger. My hope is no one notices, but as soon as I step into the elevator, Paige is the first one to call me out.
“Tell me that’s not what I think it is.”
I roll my eyes and let out a sigh. “Can you not make a big deal about this?” I sound defensive even to my own ears, which gets the interest of the others.
“Big deal about what?” Scarlett asks, leaning around Paige to look at me.
“The engagement ring on her finger.” Paige crosses her arms over her chest.
“You’re still doing that?” Charlotte asks, sympathy in her brown eyes.
I turn away from them and face the front of the elevator.
After that jerk broke my heart, I couldn’t let go of the hurt. As much as I tried to forget, it was impossible. I vowed I’d never let something like that happen to me again, and the only way to ensure that was to appear attached.
“Lydia??” Charlotte presses. There’s no judgment in her tone, only concern.
“I promise I’m good, guys. You don’t have to worry. I just want to go out and not be bothered by some sleazy guy looking for a hookup. I’m using the ring as repellant.”
Scarlett gives me an arched brow before the elevator doors open to let us out.
“Maybe you should try to move on and see what’s out there,” Paige suggests while we walk to the front of the resort to catch the Uber car we called beforehand.
I try to reign in my annoyance, I really do, but this conversation is getting old. I know it’s been about a year and a half, but I can’t put myself out there again. At least not yet. Instead of reiterating this to them though, I choose to remain silent and slide into the front seat of our ride.
Alcohol is a funny thing. It’s merely a bottle of liquid with no real power sitting on a shelf at a bar. Contained it’s useless; consumed it makes you feel like you can conquer the world. The latter is where I’m at right now. After more shots than I can count and three different bars, I haven’t got a care in the world. It’s a nice and welcomed change from my day-to-day life this last year.
“Let’s get another drink!” Charlotte yells to us over the music. We’ve just walked into our fourth stop for the night. After checking out the layout and locating the most important points—the bar and bathroom—we make our way over to the right side of the room and get a drink.
Now that it’s getting later, the crowds are starting to thicken. The dance floor is full, and the music is pulsating in my ears. It brings a small smile to my face as I feel the beat in my body.
We’re almost to our target destination when a guy elbows me right in the boob as I try to skirt around him. He turns around and all I can do is hold my boob in my hand as I grimace slightly. He presses his lips together in an attempt to not smile before our eyes meet.
“Ow, that was my boob!” I inform him. Honestly, I’m exaggerating a bit. You can blame that on the booze.
“Sorry, are you okay?” he asks, leaning in closer. His scent hits my nose and the first thought is I want to bathe in whatever he’s wearing. It’s a light, woodsy smell that encompasses all things masculine. I’ve never smelled anything so delicious. That scent, mixed with the alcohol I’ve had, is a heady combination.
“Yeah, I’m good,” I manage to say once my brain stops focusing on wanting to sniff him.
“Let me make it up to you and buy you a drink.” He flashes me a smile that I’m sure has every woman before me fall at his feet. Not tonight though.
I shake my head slowly. “Thanks, but I don’t take drinks from strangers.”
“Smart. Well, what do you want to know? My favorite color is blue, I love me some pie, and I can’t stand cats.” He looks up at the ceiling like he’s thinking. “I think that covers the basics.” When his focus comes back to me, it’s hard not to smile at the playful grin on his face.
“That sucks because the cat thing is kind of a deal breaker for me.” I shrug and move to walk away, but add, “Plus, your impressive list of likes and dislikes still makes you a stranger.”
“Look, I’m just a guy in a bar having some drinks with his brother when I elbowed a pretty girl. Have a drink with me?” When I don’t reject him again, he holds his arm out toward the bar. The sober part of my brain tells me to dig my heels in and get far away from this guy. This is how heartache starts. Unfortunately, the slightly intoxicated side of me far outweighs the sensible side, and I find myself following. There’s just something about him that’s got me enthralled, and I’m powerless to fight it.
Glancing to my left past Mr. I-Hate-Cats, I catch sight of my friends a few feet away. They pretend to be engrossed in the wall behind the bar, but I sense them watching me from the corner of their eyes.
“Marcus,” he says, extending his hand out to me, bringing my focus back to him.
“Lydia.” I return the gesture and shake his hand.
“What do you want?”
“I’ll have a Yuengling,” I respond.
“Hmm,” he says as his brows lift.
“What?”
“Nice choice, but I would’ve pegged you for a fruity girl.”
“The only fruit I like in my drinks is in the form of wine. Otherwise, I’m a beer girl.” Well, if you don’t count tonight where the girls have been shoving shots down my throat.
He nods his approval before waving the bartender down and giving him our orders. When he turns back to me, I take the opportunity to really look at him. He has light brown hair that’s short on the sides and long on the top. I can’t make out the color of his eyes because it’s so dim in here, but he has a strong, angular jaw, and his T-shirt perfectly showcases his broad shoulders and muscular arms.
“You come here often?” he asks.
I can’t contain the laughter that erupts from me. “Seriously? That’s the best line you’ve got?”
“What?” he asks, trying not to crack a smile.
“Of all the cheesy lines out there, you just used possibly the most cliché one known to mankind.”
“Alright, how about I try again?”
“If you think you can come up with something better, by all means.”
He turns his back to me for a few seconds, then faces me again. “Are you from Tennessee?”
My brow furrows in confusion. “No?”
“Oh, because you’re the only ten I see.” Before he has a chance to see me holding back my grin, he turns back around to repeat the process.
This time, he leans against the bar with one arm when he spins around. “Did it hurt?”
“Did what hurt?” I play along.
“When you fell from heaven.”
That one earns him an eye roll before he starts all over again. “Are you Google?” He pauses for effect. “Because you’re everything I’ve been searching for.”
This is quite possibly the cheesiest man I’ve ever encountered in my life.
And I kind of like it.
It’s refreshing and makes me laugh.
I look over his shoulder to see my friends huddled together, staring at me. Their eyes are wide with matching smiles as they nod and talk to each other. Even with the fog clouding my judgment, I know what they’re assuming. I open my mouth to put their assumptions to rest when Marcus catches my attention again.
“Excuse me, do you think you can handle twelve inches?” His eyes look me up and down as my mouth falls open in shock. “Oh, good. I’ve only got five,” he says with relief.
I throw my head back and let out a laugh. I should probably be offended and horrified he just said that to me, but with the look on his face, I can’t hold it in.
“Oh, God, it hurts.” I clutch my side as I try to compose myself. When I glance back up to him, he’s looking down on me with the cutest grin on his face. “You’re . . . charming,” I say sarcastically, but smile to let him know I’m only teasing.
“I’ve got a full range of skills I don’t put to use.”
“Well, it’s good to know you don’t victimize other women with those godawful lines.”
He raises a brow, an amused expression on his face. “It got you to laugh,” he points out.
“That it did,” I agree with a couple nods.
“So, where are you from?” he asks.
“Right outside Raleigh.”
“Here you go,” the bartender interrupts, placing our drinks on the bar. Marcus sets some money down before grabbing them and handing mine to me.
I take a drink, letting the taste of hops coat my tongue and run down my throat. “What about you? Where are you from?” I ask.
“Apex.” He brings his beer up to his lips and I fixate on them. They’re full and lickable. My eyes widen in surprise, and I don’t know if it’s from his answer, or my thoughts.
“Oh, wow, so you’re over in my neck of the woods.”
“It appears so,” he says with a nod.
The DJ switches songs and within the first few notes, I recognize it. “Ahh! This is my song!” I shout to him. My arms go up in the air as I let out a whoop, my excitement getting the better of me. My friends follow suit, and without a word, we all start moving to the rhythm and having a great time. I avoid eye contact with them to keep from being subjected to their questioning glances or knowing smirks. When the lyrics talk about windows and walls and sweat dripping down balls, we belt out the lines as loud as we can.
“Sweat drip down your what?” I hear his voice say in my ear. It sends a chill up my spine. I didn’t realize he was so close to me.
Turning around to face him, I look around before meeting his gaze again. “My balls?” My eyes squint as my head tilts to the side, trying to hold in my smile, but my efforts are futile.
His mouth pulls up slowly at the corners before he flashes me the whitest smile I’ve ever seen, which is followed by a deep laugh. “That’s what I thought you said.”
“Oh, come on, you know you love this song.”
“Not as much as I love watching you sing it,” he says with a little laugh.
I roll my eyes, but before I can fire back with a sassy reply, he grabs my hand and drags me to the dance floor. I should put more effort into resisting, but I don’t. All of the normal fight in my body to thwart off men has evaporated.
Once he’s found us a nice spot, his hand goes to my lower back and he pulls me in close to him. I do my best to stifle the nerves floating at the surface. It’s been forever since I’ve danced like this with a man. Even when I was with that piece of shit Seth, I didn’t dance like this; he hated dancing. I try to focus on the music and not how my body feels right now, but it’s impossible. He’s pressed against every inch of me with one leg between mine as we dance to the beat.
As soon as I look up, I know it’s a big mistake. His eyes pierce through mine as he stares down at me intently. I’ve never felt like a person was looking into my soul, but that’s how it feels in this moment, and I’m powerless to look away. Everyone else around us fades to a dull murmur. Neither of us looks away and the only thing that exists is Marcus and me as this crazy connection builds with each second that goes by.
I should probably focus more on how my body is moving as we dance, but I can’t stop staring up at him like some love-sick fool. I think I’m pulling it off, but I can’t be sure with the slight buzz I currently have. It makes me care less about how I look when I should care more.
Here’s the thing about dancing. I can, I just don’t. Not sober anyway. But once I get a little alcohol in me, all inhibition flies out the window.
As does my coordination.
“I can’t follow you,” he shouts into my ear, breaking the connection. At first, I’m not sure what he said, but then it dawns on me. Holy shit. I’m worse than I thought. I just smile, grab his hand and lead him back to the bar. I know I’ll be embarrassed tomorrow when I reflect on this with a clear mind. Then again, I’ll never see this guy again, so maybe I’ll be able to brush it off.
Feeling suddenly shy, I tuck my hair behind my ear and avert my gaze. His finger goes to my chin and lifts up, forcing me to look at him. He searches my face for a moment before his eyes hone in on my lips. When he grabs my left hand, I swallow hard and stop breathing. I’m desperate to have his lips on mine, but I know I can’t go there. Despite my heart screaming at me to get the hell away, my natural instinct is to get closer. Being torn by my internal war, I can’t move. I don’t know what it is about this guy. I know nothing about him but feel this pull. Sure, it’s based purely on physical attraction, but I’m drawn to him, nonetheless.
His intense stare darkens and travels down my body and back up before he releases his grip on my chin and my hand. He turns away from me abruptly and rests his elbows on the bar top. I’m perplexed by the sudden mood change.
“Is everything okay?” Now I feel stupid. I mean, what’s his deal? His only response is to nod while refusing to look at me. “Want another?” I ask.
“Nah, I’m good.” His tone is clipped and I know for a fact something is off. My mind spins trying to figure out what I might have said or done to piss him off. I shouldn’t care and I can’t for the life of me figure out why I do. “How long have you been married?” Slowly, his head turns to the side to look at me.
For half a second I’m confused by his question, but then I remember the fake ring I have on my finger to keep situations like this from happening. He must have felt it when he was holding my hand. I could tell him the truth. It’s silly enough and not a big deal, but before I can process my choices, my mouth opens and I say, “A little over a year.”
He nods his head several times. “Don’t you think you should’ve mentioned that before?” His tone is ice cold and my alcohol induced mind is feeling the effects and losing my buzz.
“You never asked, and I never made you any promises, Marcus.” But that’s a lie. I might not have verbally said anything, but my body was sending all the signals.
He stands up to his full height, making me look up and faces me once more. “You’re right, Lydia.” He holds out his hand just like he did when we first met. “It was nice meeting you. Your husband is a lucky man.” Leaning in, he gives me a chaste kiss on the cheek before disappearing in the crowd.
I’m rooted to my spot unable to move. What the hell just happened?
This is what you want, my mind reminds me.
Maybe if I say it enough, I’ll start to believe it again.